Embracing the Rain-3 legged race-by Lisa Freeman

Three Legged Race
By
Lisa Freeman
Published in The War Cry

“Would you slow down!” I asked for the third time.
“Honey, I’m only going the speed limit,” John said, lowering his eyes to the speedometer.
Shaking my head, I sighed. The patchy ice on the road terrified me. It seemed as though every stretch of highway was lined with accidents or overturned cars. And I didn’t really want to be the ice storm’s next victim. Why couldn’t John ever see things my way?
An uncomfortable silence filled the air. But, by no means did he slow down. His excuse was always the same, “Well, we’ve got to get there.” If it were up to me, I’d rather be late and safe, then risking our lives to be on time.
The road looked worse. Now a solid glare had covered both lanes. “Let’s just turn around,” I suggested, staring at the disaster ahead.
“We’ll be fine. I’ll slow down.”
It’s about time! I fumed silently. But this wasn’t the time or place for an argument and I knew it. John gripped the steering wheel with both hands and held steady, releasing his foot from the gas. I just knew we were going to spin out of control and end up in the ditch.
Grasping on to the dash, I closed my eyes and braced myself for the worst. Again, I suggested, “Can’t we please just turn around?”
“If we turn around now, the other side is just as bad and we’d have just as far to go to get home.”
I opened my eyes and turned my head for a quick glance to the opposite side of the highway. John was right; it looked even worse than our lanes. Oh God, I whispered, Please keep us safe.
Still angry with John for not turning around way back there, a Bible verse came to mind. It says that we are to be heirs together so that our prayers will not be hindered. I Peter 3:7 (KJV) Suddenly, I knew God wouldn’t honor my prayers. But, still, so angry with John, I stifled my apology. It was obvious; he was to blame. Yes, I wanted to attend the writer’s group, but had I known the roads were solid ice I would have never ventured out.
He had just returned home from work, which was out of town. He had to of known how dangerous the roads were, and yet he said nothing. And he promised me before we even left, “Honey, if we get out there and the roads are too bad, we’ll turn around.”
This is his fault. Why should I apologize? I reasoned with God. However, the overwhelming guilt lay heavy on my heart, like wet cement. My chest felt so heavy, I could barely breath. But still, I couldn’t bring myself to say those two words, “I’m sorry.”
Finally, the road cleared. Although there were patchy ice spots, there was enough dry pavement to keep our vehicle stable. Breathing a sigh of relief I sat back. But then John sped up again.
“Careful around the curve,” I said, studying the road like a child wandering into the path of danger.
Surprisingly, he slowed down a little and didn’t say a word. But I could feel the tension building between us like hot lava bursting out of the center of a volcano. I knew that any minute we would be the victims of another heated argument.
John continued to drive faster than I liked. And I continued to get angrier. Finally, unable to contain myself any longer, I spewed, “You never think about me! You drive like a maniac!”
“Yeah, well if I went as slow as you wanted me to, we’d still be in the driveway!”
“The way you’re driving we could end up in the ditch or even worse!”
“I’ll slow down, okay? I’m sorry.”
He always did that. I hated it. He gave in to me, said he was sorry, but still thought in his own mind he was right. Ewe, that irked me! His apology didn’t sound any more believable than Martians landing on the earth.
Again, I silently blamed him. This wasn’t over by a long shot. I’m not letting this thing die without a fight. I stewed just thinking about it.
God kept flashing scripture and thoughts before my mind, making me want to give in. But I just couldn’t. I sat there silently, thinking of a logical way out of this. I wanted John to own up to his fault, more than just a simple “I’m sorry” to appease me.
But he didn’t. We rode in silence. Although the roadway was much clearer, my mind was clogged with all kinds of thoughts. I couldn’t relax.
Finally, I rationalized. “Okay, you like to drive like you’re on the Daytona 500, and I like to go a little slower.” He listened. “Couldn’t we at least have some balance?” Still nothing.
As I sat there waiting for a reaction, the Lord began speaking to my heart. It was like a mercury light flicked on in my head. I wasn’t being any different than the first couple who set foot on the earth—Adam and Eve. When they sinned, they blamed someone or something else. Here I was angry with John, shoving the blame onto him.
God showed me that Satan would love for me to be angry with John all the time, because then he would have a mighty foothold in our lives. When I’m upset with John, it separates our oneness. So, instead of working together and reaching the goal, we’re knocking each other down, and not gaining any ground. Wow, what a revelation!
Of course, I couldn’t just give in. I had to question God. “Okay, God,” I uttered under my breath. “But John’s completely lunatic when he drives. We’re so opposite. I’m careful and like to go slower; he’s fast and presses on without a thought for what lies ahead. How can I agree with that? How can we reach common ground?”
God seemed almost pleased I had asked. Because He didn’t hesitate a minute to give me a resolution. He brought to my mind a three-legged race. As the familiar summer reunion game flashed before my eyes, I noticed something I hadn’t been aware of before—the rope.
In a three-legged race, there are two people, tied together, with a rope around their ankles, competing against other people to win the race. However, one person can’t just speed ahead without the other, or they’ll both drop to their knees and fall behind. And at the same time, one can’t go too slow. They have to learn to focus on the leg with the rope, go at a pace that they both can handle, and then they will make it safely to the finish line.
God showed me that John and I are in a three-legged race. John only sees the finish line, so he goes as fast as he can to get there. But I see the obstacles in the way and I know we can get hurt if we’re not careful, so I just want to hobble along. However, God is the rope that ties our legs together. He’s telling us that if we focus on Him (the rope), instead of everything around us, we’ll be going the proper speed, and we’ll reach our goal and win the prize.
After I shared this new revelation with John and apologized, the weight lifted from my chest, and so did John’s foot from the gas pedal.
Although we are opposite about many things, we now realize that we’re this way for a reason. If John drove like me, we’d never get anywhere—at least not on time. And if I drove like him—we might not be safe—or at the very least we’d get a ticket for speeding. But if we’re allowing God to be that rope that joins us together, and we’re sensitive to His Spirit, we’ll be going at just the right speed for a triumphal victory!